Author Name: liliaeth
Artists Name: lightthesparks
Beta: runriggers, just_ruth, faithburke
Summary: The BAU has to deal with a serial killer who believes he's hunting vampires. The unsub's name, Dean Winchester.
Genre: Supernatural/Criminal Minds crossover
Warnings: death of children, religious themes, violence
Pairing: not an issue
Rating: PG 13
Disclaimer: I don't own either, no matter how much I might want to
Notes: Spoilers for s5 of CM and SPN
Vinnie wasn’t even sure what he was looking for. One moment he was on the dance floor with Marissa, the next she was pulling him along with her to the back of the coat check area. Vinnie had known the guy handling the coats for years and when he noticed them, he just gave Vinnie a wink and purposely looked away. Marissa didn’t seem to care, she pushed Vinnie against the wall and he leaned into her.
Then she pulled back, he held his hands in front of his pants, too embarrassed to head out. She threw him a grey trenchcoat and left him behind. Mark just smirked at them both and Vinnie knew he was going to have to pay for this one.
He hesitated and prayed God for forgiveness before following her out. He noticed her in the middle of the crowd. She was gorgeous. Her long blond hair hung in loose ringlets along her face and her new white dress showed off her figure, far more than he knew her father would appreciate.
She was dancing with some guy. Vinnie didn’t know his name, but he looked creepy. Like some kind of freak, dressed in black jeans and a low-cut shirt, with chains holding up his pants instead of a belt. Vinnie couldn’t believe the creep was actually wearing eyeliner, but he was sure he saw it, when the guy looked over his Raybans.
Sunglasses, inside? How lame did you have to be?
Yet Marissa seemed to be eating it up, she was dancing with him, almost as if she knew him. He leaned up to her and whispered something in her ear. She smiled and answered back. Vinnie couldn’t quite hear what she was saying.
They went up to the bar and she let him buy her a drink. Vinnie would have gone up and said something, but he stood there transfixed as she dipped a finger into her glass and placed a soft kiss on her fingertip, sucking up the soft red drops of liquid.
The stranger grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the exit, it was almost as if the crowd poured open before them.
He could hear the happy sound of her laughter even amidst the noise, his heartbeat thumped wildly along with the beat of the music. His hands formed fists and he pushed them in his pockets. He nearly cut himself when he realized there was something in the lining.
It was a knife, a butcher’s knife. What were the odds that of all the coats in the room, Marissa had picked one that belonged to a psycho? He rushed out, desperate to find Marissa.
He found her in the alley beside the bar. The weirdo had pushed her against a wall. She didn’t protest, no she gave in to him. She enjoyed it. The stranger kissed her. She opened her mouth. Her lips looked ruby red. Freak guy pushed her further. He grabbed her wrists and pushed them to the wall. Vinnie screamed, but neither of them seemed to hear him. The weirdo held her there as his tongue traced a path along the crook of her shoulder up to her neck. She wasn’t even looking at him, her head pulled back, as she sighed under his touches. His teeth slipped into place and he broke skin. He sputtered back, almost instantly, he spat out the blood.
She started laughing. “What? Am I too rich for your tastes? Bad for your diet?” She’d lost what little bit of shyness she had left. Her face was twisted in a smirk and her eyes had gone black. Vinnie just stared at her, he wasn’t sure if he’d really seen it. The next moment, she looked back at him, with normal eyes.
“What are you?” the weirdo sputtered out, still trying to get rid of the last of the blood inside of him. Vinnie stared in disbelief as small frail Marissa who could barely open of jar of pickles pinned the larger man to the wall and held him there.
“Something scarier than a miserable little rat like you could ever hope to be.”
“Help me, Vinnie. He was going to kill me. He’s a vampire.” Vinnie just stood there.
“Please Vinnie, you said you loved me. Kill him for me, please. Before he kills me.”
The freak tried to protest, she looked at him as if he were her hero.
“Please Vinnie, make it hurt.”
Vinnie pulled out the knife and cut. Marissa told him to run, and she screamed.
Finally a lead! Derek followed Hotch into the motel. He made sure to take a good look at the lobby. The place was stuffed to the hull with old papers, magazines and books in every nook and cranny all around the edges of the room and stairs. You could barely see what the wallpaper looked like because of all the faerie posters and shelves filled with angel figurines covering it.
There was a seventies model TV attached to a pole over the desk. It displayed some old black and white horror movie, while the teenager staffing the counter was munching on a bag of salsa chips.
A quick round of questioning led them directly to a room in the back. The black Chevy wasn’t there now, but the clerk said it belonged to a guy in room 205. Some pretty boy, name on his card said Billy Corgan. The name sounded familiar, Derek just wasn’t sure where from.
According to the clerk the guy had arrived on his own and had asked for a single room with a King. The boy hadn’t paid much attention to him, except that when he went to look at the air conditioner in one of the rooms next to it, he heard the guy talking to someone. The walls weren’t quite thin enough to hear what they’d been talking about, but he’d seen the first guy holding a gun before Corgan got the curtains shut.
They had a search warrant, and the clerk practically fell over himself in his eagerness to help. The smell of pot in the lobby didn’t hurt. Derek grinned as he noticed the kid spraying a bit of Febreeze while he’d looked away for a second.
“Does this have to do with those murdered girls? Really? Wow, think he’s…” Derek ignored him as he entered the room. The first thing he noticed was the disturbed line of white powder on the floor in front of the door. There was another line of salt to be found on the window ledge. He knelt down and picked some up. Salt, rock salt to be precise.
Derek noticed a set of carvings in the doorpost, he wasn’t sure what they were supposed to mean. He pointed them out to Hotch who’d stepped further into the room. It was a mess. There were papers and some news articles spread out on the bed. The thing that pulled most of their attention was the wall. It was covered in pictures, yearbook pictures. Some had been crossed out with a red marker. They were all pictures of the victims. Three more were circled with a blue marker He could see that the crossed out ones had had the blue edge.
“Call the station, get someone to identify these girls and put police protection on them. Now.”
Derek had his phone out already and was making the call before Hotch even finished talking.
Hotch opened the bathroom. He stood in the door opening for a second before he motioned at Derek to join him. It didn’t take him long to notice the shirt in the sink. Someone had been trying to wash the blood out with a long soak.
“He’s… he’s not going to come back here, is he?” Derek almost jumped when he heard the boy’s voice.
“I told you to stay outside!”
The kid flinched.
“I know, I just… But…”
Derek glared at him and the kid got the hell out of the room. “And don’t touch anything. This room’s a crime scene.”
“Oh man, my mom’s gonna kill me.”
Derek ignored the kid after that. The forensic unit would be here soon. Derek grabbed a set of latex gloves before he accidentally touched anything. He tried to see what else there was to find.
There was a paper with the same set of names they’d found themselves. Most of them had been crossed out. The unsub had written something on the side with the same red marker he’d used to pin down what lives he’d taken out: “Quarantine.”
Four other names had been handwritten on the print out. Simon Durgiss, Clarissa Burns, Donna Martin and Stan Curtis. They needed to be found. Derek prayed they were still alive.
There was also a note with an address; they’d need to check it out, right after they got the kid talking to a sketch artist.
Reid put his hand on Winchester’s shoulder. It was a quiet attempt to wake the man up before they landed. He could hear him mutter something. “No, never…” Sam woke up with a shock on his face, it quickly turned into a relieved sigh.
Winchester was about his age; slouched in his seat, he looked even younger. Reid had been trying to make an assessment of the man since they first caught sight of him in Oklahoma. Most of all, Sam Winchester was exhausted. If all his dreams lately were nightmares, it wasn’t a surprise.
“He showed up as Henrickson.” Winchester seemed sad at the mention of the name. “But we dealt with his ghost last year. So I knew right away it wasn’t really him.”
Victor Henrickson had been the lead agent on the first Winchester case. He’d died in a gas explosion in Monument, Colorado, less than an hour after sending in a report about the Winchesters’ death in a helicopter crash.
“He only died, because Lilith was after us.” Lilith, the first wife of Adam in Jewish lore, but also the name of a Babylonian storm demon associated with wind. She was thought to be a bearer of disease, illness and death and was one of the Lilitu. Many scholars place the origin of the phonetic name ‘Lilith’ as somewhere around 700 BC despite post-dating even to the time of Moses. Lilith appears as a night demon in Jewish lore and a screech owl in the King James version of the Bible. And then Reid pulled himself back to what Sam Winchester was actually saying.
“He shouldn’t have died, he was a good man. Dean liked him.”
Henrickson had dogged the Winchesters relentlessly for over a year. Reid wondered what part of that could possibly have made the elder Winchester like the agent. Maybe the challenge had excited him, to have a worthy adversary that paid that much attention to him, might have stroked his ego. The Baltimore tape, showed he definitely had the arrogance related to a narcissist; the same kind of arrogance based on a deep seated insecurity, often caused by a distant or absent parent.
Sam bowed his head and didn’t move while Hotch attached his seatbelt. Reid quickly closed his own as well. “You’re wrong about Dean. “ Sam said, as he raised his hand, his shackles rang a bit as they touched the chair. “Henrickson realized that. It’s why he let us go. Once he saw the truth.”
‘Let us go’, as in, allowed them to escape? There were theories amongst the agents in the bureau, that the Winchesters were vigilantes. Many of their appearances coincided with weird happenings in an area. This case had only proved to that theory, especially in the way that the MO of the murders pretty much contradicted every part of the MO in the St Louis murders.
“And what is the truth?”
“That Dean’s a hero.” That would explain Henrickson allowing them to walk. Henrickson knew the case even better than Reid did. It was easy to fall for that small moral absolute of allowing these men to kill monsters. When you forgot for a second, what the Winchesters defined as monsters didn’t always correlate with a common conception of the word monster.
Both Winchester brothers had been brainwashed from an early age to see their own brand of justice as superior to the police. They investigated strange occurrences and were taught to ignore the regular non-supernatural explanation for what was happening, instead to look for the supernatural. They were taught not to see man’s capability of evil, but to see monsters and demons in place of mental illness and the breakdown of social and individual values. This sometimes led to the execution of actual threats to society and the people in it, which only confirmed their beliefs in themselves as heroes. They ignored the times when they were wrong and their so-called monster simply had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“And what about you?”
“Me?” Sam chuckled, it sounded halfhearted, broken. “I’m the monster Dean carries with him. The one that he can’t kill, because no matter what I do or become, all he sees is his little brother.”
The addiction, the need for ‘demon blood’, which probably pulled the younger Winchester down in a spiral of self-destruction and self-hatred. Sam Winchester had done something that had pinged his older brother’s belief in monsters, something that if Sam had been any other person, would have probably resulted in the older Winchester killing him.
Whatever had happened between them had been bad enough that when Winchester was triggered by something that happened in this area; it led to him killing eight teenagers in a matter of little over a week. They needed to find out what Sam had done, what the stressor was, if they wanted to find the trigger in the current area.
There was only one problem. With the Winchesters, that ‘something’ could be anything, ranging from a series of mysterious disappearances, unexplained illnesses or deaths, to freak storms or cattle mutilation.